Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,259

concert and tossed out a few bars of it as an experiment. The crowd went crazy. Steve showed me an article the next day that someone wrote about how it—”

He interrupts himself and pulls out his phone. He taps the keys for a few beats and then hands it over to me. I read the headline. Love Looks Good on Vail’s Mark Ashton.

“Love?” I say, reading the headline.

He shrugs. “According to the article.”

“What about according to you?”

“I hardly even know you.” He looks out the window again.

I nod. He’s right. It’s ridiculous of me to even ask.

“And that’s why I don’t understand these goddamn feelings.” He says it so softly that I almost miss it. I pretend like I don’t hear him, like I’m reading the article.

Because if I allow myself to listen to those words—his admission that he has confusing feelings for me that might feel a little like love—I’m not sure I’ll keep believing Brian’s harsh words about the way Mark treats women.

As I stare down at Mark’s phone pretending to read the article, some of the words on the screen start to register. They’re familiar words that have stayed with me, stamped on my heart in the way a lot of Vail songs are, but personal and unique in their own way.

It’s the words I remember Mark tapping into his phone when we were in the back of his Yukon headed toward his place. When my eyes focus on those four little words, I read the entire article.

“A Little Like Destiny.” Those were the words Mark Ashton repeated at his surprise performance at the Noteworthy show two nights ago at HRH’s pool venue.

I stop reading to say, “I was at that show.”

“You were?”

I nod. “We left early.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

Noteworthy front man Sebastian Cresswell and Ashton are longtime friends with a history of surprising each other on stage, not to mention their history of shared women and drunken nights. The words Ashton sang on Saturday have women everywhere distraught that his single days might be over. His ballad was forlorn and sincere. Emotions don’t run that deep without true feelings behind them, and love looks good on Ashton, or at least on Ashton’s lyrics. Who is this mystery woman inspiring his music? Only time will tell. To view the performance, click here. To read the rest of the soulful lyrics, click here.

I click on the rest of the lyrics.

The light hits your eyes

A part of me dies

A little like destiny

It’s just for one night

But it feels too right

A little like destiny

I can’t let it go

It’s starting to show

A little like destiny

The threat of tears bites behind my eyes. I want to watch the performance. I want to see him setting those words to music, belting them out the way only he can with all the talent he possesses, but I need to do it alone. I need to do it when he’s not sitting right beside me, because if I hear his pent-up emotions about me coming out of him in the form of a song while he’s in a confined space beside me, I’m not sure what’ll happen. I’m not sure I’ll be able to maintain self-control.

“I wish I could’ve seen it live,” I say.

He hums a tune, and then he murmurs the words. He isn’t belting them out like I imagined, like he probably is in the video, but he’s giving me my own acapella version right here in the back of the car.

And it’s beautiful. He sings the words quietly, soulfully, and I can’t help but admire the pure musical gift he was born with. He doesn’t look at me while he croons softly beside me, instead focusing his gaze out the window.

When he’s done, I don’t know whether to applaud or climb onto his lap and kiss him or sit quietly.

I let the quiet stir between us, and then I say, “That was lovely.” My voice shakes with the unshed tears behind my eyes.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, turning to look at me.

“What do you mean by it’s starting to show?”

He clears his throat. “I told you how I’m a disaster. I almost missed a performance the other night. That never happens. Never. Music is first in my life, always. I told you how I fucked up our opening song. It’s an amateur move. I haven’t done that shit since before we signed a record deal. A fuckload of people count on me not to fuck up, and I’m letting them down. All because my